


Friends & Family

by OldChum



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crime, Drama, Gen, Intrigue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldChum/pseuds/OldChum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Wilson Fisk's arrest, the firm of Nelson and Murdock face new threats and the consequences of old sins. Maybe the curse of Hell's Kitchen is that those who would save it are doomed to destroy themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends & Family

**Author's Note:**

> This story is kind of growing as I write it, which is great fun. Some things have very specific directions, and others are a little more flexible, so I'm not one hundred percent sure where it's all going but the basic plot is mapped out.
> 
> Dedicated to everybody who got offed in the bloodbath at the end of Season One, because I'm sorry they won't be coming back for Season Two.

 

 

“Towards the end of his life, my father made mistakes. In his efforts to preserve a lasting legacy for his family, and to leave his mark on a field he had given so much of his time and heart to, he was swallowed up by corruption. I can’t deny that, and I don’t want to. This city changes so much, it’s barely even recognizable if you hold it up side-by-side with the neighborhoods my father grew up in. Maybe those changes frightened him, maybe the entirely economic collapse of the world did. Despite his own prudence, he couldn’t prevent the mistakes of others. And, eventually, his resolve gave way and he fell into the same traps that destroyed his peers, one by one.

“But a man is not – _cannot_ be – his ending. He is his life. For almost fifty years, Leland Owlsley was considered the most ethical man on Wall Street, and until those last few moments, he truly was. He instilled in me values that I cherish, values that still hold true, as the world becomes more uncertain. Even if he himself lost faith in them, or found himself too long down a road he could not turn back on. And it is in the spirit of these values, the values of the father that I remember, that I am announcing the creation of the Owlsley Trust.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy Nelson stormed into the offices of Nelson and Murdock and threw a newspaper on the desk in front of his partner.

“I am so pissed! SO pissed!” He shouted, grumbled, and kicked a waste basket, “That’s the Daily Bugle and its headline is _bullshit_!”

Matt didn’t point out that he could tell by the smell of the paper that it was the Bugle and not the Bulletin. Besides which, Foggy didn’t bring in the Bulletin anymore. It reminded everyone of Ben Urich, and then they were sad, and sad lawyers were less efficient. At least, that was how Foggy phrased it when Karen wasn’t around.

“What does it say?” Matt asked, thumbing the sides of the paper. It had been a long time since he’d held a Bugle. His dad used to read it. The edges were always a little more uneven than the Bulletin, and it was still a big broadsheet. Almost like you were supposed to read it sitting at the kitchen table instead of riding on the subway.

“It says that stupid Leland Owlsley Jr is setting up a charity thing to teach inner city kids about the Owlsley values or something!” Foggy took a deep breath, “I guess it’s a fun afterschool program about embezzling from crime syndicates.”

Matt grinned.

“And you want to take it personally?”

“I really do,” Foggy admitted, “and I know it’s dumb. But I just think, here this guy is hiding out in Chicago, weathering this whole storm, and I _know_ in my _gut_ that he was helping his old man move money around. Then, what? He just waltzes back in here when the dust has settled and tries to, like, retroactively reclaim his family’s image?! And I am _mad_ because it’s kind of working!”

“We have no evidence that he was involved with any of Fisk’s operations, or even if he knew that his father was. Parents keep secrets to protect their kids. Maybe your gut is wrong.”

“I don’t think so. It is a shockingly accurate gut.”

“There’s nothing—“

High heels clicking on hardwood, tread favoring the left leg, leather purse strap slipping off a wool coat. Prada perfume.

“Karen’s coming. Hide that paper and talk about something else.”

In a slightly baffled panic, Foggy threw the paper into one of Matt’s desk drawers and shouted:

“Goddamn, the Yankees suck! Thanks for nothing, steroids!”

“They used to be a great team,” Matt nodded.

“They used to be a _great_ team!”

“Wow,” Karen chuckled, hanging up her coat and purse in the reception area, “I didn’t know you guys were so into baseball. When does the season start this year?”

Matt furrowed his brow, while Foggy stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head.

“I don’t think we know,” Foggy admitted, “May-ish? Late spring. Somewhere in there.”

“We don’t really follow baseball,” Matt explained, “We just like to yell about the Yankees. Because we were born here.”

“Uh-huh. Some kind of native New Yorker thing? Not a ruse or anything?”

“Ruse? Why would we need a ruse?” Foggy scoffed.

“To keep her from suspecting her birthday present,” Matt suggested.

While Foggy grinned at the great introduction Fate had handed them, Matt pulled a long slender velvet box out of his top desk drawer. It was adorned with a slightly goofy looking multi-coloured bow that had obviously been bought at a drugstore by guys who weren’t used to giving elegant presents.

“What?” Karen gasped, delighted and confused, “How did you even know it was today?”

She took the box from Matt.

“Well, when you get arrested, they write down your date of birth and give it to your attorneys. With a bunch of other information. It’s very technical. Happy birthday! We got you a present!”

Karen opened the box to find a simple charm bracelet of blue glass beads.

“Oh, you guys…” She looked genuinely moved, and there was a tremor of pleasant surprise Matt wasn’t sure he’d ever hear in her voice again.

“Foggy picked it out. Because I’m blind.”

“He is pretty useless in a jewelry store. But he made damn sure that puppy is smooth!”

“One of the smoothest ones they had!” Matt said proudly.

“The other smooth ones were ugly.”

Karen couldn’t help warm tears of happiness fill her eyes.

“Thank you so much, both of you. I was kind of hoping that this whole day would just fly by without… But this is so much better.” She sniffled, and laughed at her own emotion while Foggy fastened the bracelet on her wrist.

“You’d better wear it a lot, even if you secretly hate it,” Foggy ordered.

“We’ll fire you if you don’t,” Matt quipped with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Money is like tea leaves.

Second tier lenders are for time-share scams.

A good magician does his trick in full view.

Lee Owlsley looked at the headstone he’d bought for his father. It was solid, well-made, and a decent blend of timeless elegance and tackiness. It was very Wall Street. Just like the man it commemorated. One of the few memories of funerals Lee had from his childhood was after the 1987 crash, when a friend of his father’s committed suicide.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Leland Owlsley Sr. had said, “that he swallowed a gun or that they put those cherubs on his tombstone. Jesus, those are ugly.”

Granted, his father had been doing a considerable amount of cocaine during that era – everyone had been – but Lee had always remembered that moment. So when the stonemason offered him the options of angels and sweet-faced babies, he had declined.

“It’s kind of surreal, commissioning a headstone,” the surviving Owlsley noted to the muscular man standing beside him. “Have you ever done it?"

The man shook his head.

“It’s surprisingly unmoving. You’re pretty much past all the shock and denial, kind of settling into the fact that somebody is dead. There are options. Like picking out wallpaper. You have to strike a balance between a monument to who the person really was, and a monument to what they wanted the world to think of them. But it’s _shopping_. You haggle with the mason and look through a catalogue.”

“It sounds weird,” the muscular man nodded.

“It is. My ex-wife offered to help, which was sweet of her, but she has terrible taste and really hated my father.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, kind of fucked up how he died.”

“Really? You think it’s fucked up for somebody to throw their seventy year-old accountant down an elevator shaft?”

“Yeah.”

Lee sighed at nothing in particular and looked into the distance. Grey clouds were starting to roll in. Soft grey ones that would probably drop a thin layer of snow. Soon it would be too cold for snow, and the biting New York winter would creep in and bring Christmas with it. His first Christmas without his old man.

“So, what do we make of this Daredevil nut?” He asked.

“Still hard to say. He’s got a unique mix of martial arts styles, and a little bit of traditional boxing thrown in. Then there’s the baton.”

“Like a cheerleader?”

“No, it’s a multi-purpose club that has a garrote, and it’s definitely a unique design. It’s taking time to get a handle on how he uses it, and the other thing that’s slowing us down are his reaction cues. The son of a bitch is almost impossible to feint. But everybody’s got patterns, and if you know a fighter’s patterns, you know his weaknesses. Totally upfront? I need more footage, and I need to see him against different styles of combat.”

More money.

At the end of the day, everything was always about more money.

“Fine. Set it up.”

One of the things Lee liked about Suego was that the man was uncomplicated. He probably didn’t even realize that someone with Lee’s background had no way of knowing what any of this might cost. It wasn’t the noblest form of trust, but it was working.

“Have we figured out why we can’t just shoot him?” Lee asked over his shoulder as Suego made his way towards the path out of the cemetery.

“Body armor, mostly,” Suego shrugged.

“Mostly?”

“And he’s the best at dodging shit I’ve ever seen.”

Lee nodded and turned his head back to the grave.

 

* * *

 

It was a little after three o’clock in the afternoon when Foggy made it down to the station. He opened the doors to find Brett Mahoney standing there, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re late. Where’s Matt?”

Foggy couldn’t quite hide his amusement when he told Brett that the firm had decided this one was a one-man-job.

“So,” he grinned, “what happened?”

“She hit a man in the head with her purse and he is pressing charges.”

Brett led Foggy through the weathered hallways of the station, to a small wooden door that probably hadn’t been updated since the 70’s.

“Pressing charges? Like, assault charges? How does he think those’ll stick?” Foggy’s confused expression gave way to mild horror as it dawned on him, “Oh my god, does she still keep a garden brick in there?!”

“Yup.” Brett angrily threw open the meeting room door, “She does.”

Bess Mahoney looked small, wiry, and fierce as a tiger sitting at the Formica table with her hands cuffed and a glass of water within reach.

“Oh! Franklin!” She beamed when the door opened, “It’s so good to see you! You need a haircut!”

“Hi, Bess! Looks like you got arrested!”

“Oh, well, I’m not worried about it. My lawyer is one of the ones who helped bring down that Bowling Pin Scandal. And my son is a cop… not that it’s helping much.” This was followed by a sharp and meaningful glance in Brett’s direction.

Foggy tried not to look as amused as he felt. It wasn’t really funny, except it was. He pulled out his phone to record the conversation, and a legal pad to take notes on. And then he took a deep, bracing breath, to ward off any snickering that might occur.

“Alright. Let’s start at the beginning. What exactly happened?”

“I was holding a small private sale to liquidate household items of limited use—“

“She was having a yard sale.” Brett rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me, Officer,” Bess snapped at him, “but I don’t think you’re supposed to be here while I am speaking with my attorney.”

Foggy looked over his shoulder and gave Brett a sympathetic shrug. “She’s right.”

Brett grumbled and stormed out, slamming the door of the interview room behind him.

“Why don’t you wear bowties anymore? You used to wear them all the time, and I thought it was very sharp.”

“I was twelve, Bess,” Foggy smiled. “Now, you were holding this sale?”

“And this man came up to the tables, and I thought he was going to steal something for the black market like they do now. This neighborhood used to make more sense to me, but now all the white people wear the same suits and I can’t tell the criminal white people from the regular white people, so I had to hit him with my bag. Tell that to the judge if we go to court.”

“I might change the wording. A little.”

“Can I ask you something? Now that it’s just the two of us?” Bess said, with dire seriousness.

Foggy put down the pen and nodded.

“How come Matthew doesn’t have one of those dogs?”

 

* * *

 

Things had been different since Fisk was arrested. The firm had gotten a lot of press out of it, and most of the stories had been very positive. Kind of like Erin Brockovich versus The Mob. They’d been able to control a certain amount of their fame, but it still made Matt uneasy. It seemed to make Karen uneasy, too, but he was sure that it was more to do with stirring up old memories for her than anything else. As for him, he didn’t like the idea of Matt Murdock in the spotlight. It compromised what he was trying to accomplish, and the very last thing he wanted to do was hold one of those I-Am-Iron-Man press conferences.

So, he’d been focusing on all the cases they’d been brought in recent months. People saw them as crusaders. A firm that wouldn’t back down. A firm that stood for truth. Just like he and Foggy had wanted.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Matt?” Karen tapped on the side of his open office door.

He snapped back to attention, and turned his face in the direction of the sound.

“Yes?” He smiled.

“I was worried you’d fallen asleep behind your sunglasses,” Karen confessed. “Hey, you guys weren’t planning anything in the way of a birthday dinner, were you? Because I didn’t know you knew it was today, and I made other arrangements, and I would feel really bad if I ruined something, but—“

“It’s okay,” Matt stopped her. “We didn’t plan a dinner. We thought the bracelet was enough. Is it not? Should we have planned a dinner?”

“No! No, it’s more than enough. It’s perfect. Thank you. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Karen. Happy Birthday.”

Distractedly, he heard the sounds of her closing up her desk and getting ready to leave. A patch of sunset tickled the back of his hand with unexpected warmth. It was probably the last time he would be warm that winter. He’d felt frost in the air all week. He flexed the muscles of his hand in the light, felt the cords of tension pull at his fingertips and release.

Tonight, he would listen to the city.

He would go out and stop something.


End file.
